


The September Foundation

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [415]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Post Civil War, Sad Tony, September Foundation, introspective Tony, old man Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: Tony threw his money at the September Foundation because he needed there to be a generation of futurists behind him, ready to lead the world to where it needs to go.Now, he needs to see that he succeeded.





	The September Foundation

Tony takes the red line.

It’s what he did, back in the day. Way, way back, he thinks ruefully, noticing his reflection in the car’s window and definitely seeing the silver in his hair. Christ. Where’d the time go?

Rhodey’s not silver. Rhodey’s almost three years older than him; shouldn’t he be silver now, too? He doesn’t look like he did in college, but still. Something the military feeds them, maybe.

He gets off at the Kendall/MIT stop, makes sure his hood is firmly in place. He finds that he gets recognized less than he used to. Something about looking more like a broken down old eccentric person than the man who used to be on magazine cover. He’d done a side-by-side with FRIDAY a month ago, the last time he was on the cover of TIME versus now. It wasn’t pretty.

But MIT is still the type of place people might recognize him. Even if it’s just by associating the idea of the place with him and being primed to see him. And Tony’s not here for the press mess today.

He keeps his head down and slides his sunglasses more firmly up his face as he emerges into sunlight, takes to the mostly still familiar streets.

He’d meant it, when he’d dished out tens of millions of dollars to these kids. The September Foundation has a board and charity benefits and real donors now, but the inaugural grant was mostly him, throwing a charity name at his money to give it an air of legitimacy so no one would sneeze on those who took it. They need these kids. They need a future full of brilliant minds unafraid to play and try and create.

He has a list, on his phone. Every recipient of the grant is required to submit their name and a vague description of what they’re working on–not enough to get him accused of corporate theft, just enough to know loosely where the money is going and, potentially, inventors that might be tapped for SI recruitment in the upcoming years–and Tony’s compiled a list of who he wants to drop in on today.

He picks up coffees first. It’s only polite. His mother would lose it if she saw him show up empty-handed.

The campus is…soothing, Tony realizes is the word. And it’s true what they say, isn’t it? You never really know what you have until it’s gone. Long gone, in his case.

Tony alternated between lectures he often barely needed, to lab time, to parties, and rarely to his bed. What would have happened if he sat outside for an afternoon? Lingered over lunch?

Probably something catastrophic would have happened. He’s a Stark, after all.

He finds his destination and knocks on the door. “Can I come in?”

Four kids look up at him, and Tony’s thankful for the coffee, for his ability to extend it in offering rather than have to wave or something.

Two of them are squinting at him, as if questioning themselves. The other two have already figured it out.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Stark?” One of the woman asks. “Is it…the September Foundation?”

“If you’re asking if there’s something up with the money, then nope. That’ll keep coming. I told you, strings free. I’m just…wondering if I can watch.”

There’s not exactly a ton of extra space, but Tony manages to perch himself awkwardly in a corner once invited.

“Do we…like, make you sign a non-disclosure agreement or something?” the guy asks.

“If you can draw up a NDA, then I’ll sign,” Tony promises. “Or I can cross my heart and hope to die if that works. Of course, I have full intention of poaching every member of this team in May.”

“Is this an…audition?”

“Nah,” Tony says. “I’ve already put your names down at SI. Understand that’s not an obligation on either side. Just the R&D guy expressing a preference. This, today…is a tired old guy wanting to crash in your lab. And I brought coffee,” he adds as an after-thought.

One of them snorts. They share a look as a group, and then shrug and get back to work.

Tony needs to know the world is going to be okay, regardless of what happens next. He needs to know that there are futurists everywhere, that there’s a lot of them seeing the problems of the world, each of them seeing their piece and taking it apart and making things happen.

Tony’s list of recipients he might want to check in on is long. There’s groups of them thinking and weapons and defense, about what might be coming. And Tony’s interested, but honestly sitting in their lab might well trigger a panic attack. Plus, if this exercise is to get him out of his head, to show him the wide world of problems being solved by those who will usurp his throne and he’ll gladly step aside for, then weapons isn’t the way to go.

There’s a kid who’s basically using Tony’s money to keep him in food and coffee while he attempts to solve one of the millennium problems. There’s a team who’s sequencing genes and might very well cure cancer within five years. There’s a group that’s redesigning airplane engines for fuel efficiency.

And then there’s these kids, who’re going to make the internet globally accessible. No more economic, geographic, or political barriers to the people’s access of free information.

It’ll probably lead to a world of people watching cat videos.

But who knows. There’s a futurist out there somewhere, a kid who sees things that need their unique touch, who doesn’t have the tools to change the world. And these kids might give that kid the tools.

Tony sinks into his chair and closes his eyes, listens to them argue out their work between frantic sips of coffee. The science, the math, the desperate dirty pure creation of it soothes something inside him.

He’ll leave this lab before four thirty, because that’s when FRIDAY will prompt him to be on his way so he can get himself to the plane and be on his way to a meeting in New York, the next session of fighting it out over the Accords. Then he’ll return to his own lab, where he’s getting ready for what he knows is coming, damn what others keep telling him. He saw it. He knows it.

But today, he’ll be able to go, knowing these kids are out here. Futurists, the lot of them, all of them leaving their mark on the world, taking it into the next generation. The world’s going to keep on turning. Airplanes will go faster, cancer research will improve lives, math will be the wonder it always is. People all over the world will take to exploring and learning and solving problems.

And yeah, Tony thinks. He can live with this kind of world.


End file.
